Mr. Robert Dobalina

a poem

in the attempt to understand
the actions and the motivations
of the seriously misunderstood
one often assumes the pain is
too much to bear

that the experiences of the forlorn
have done such a number on the subject
that any and all actions that emanate
from the root of bitterness
is in fact allowable

the therapists and those who parrot
therapy language are often the ones
who explain away the actions despite
how very evil they may be
and on purpose

sitting in a bar that is falling down around him
Mr. Robert Dobalina is pursuing his pilsner
with wanton abandon and a touch of anger
as if by finishing the pint he can start again
on the destruction of the next

he is telling a story and it was told to another
from a man who was listening to him from the floor
the floor of the bar was the only place
in that place that was ever cleaned
because Dobalina insisted

his business being so great, so grand
and bringing in others to kiss the bottoms of 
his well-worn, yet spit shined Doc Martins
the owner made sure to at least sweep
in the late morning before opening

in he would sweep with his trenchcoat about him
like the villain in a dimestore western
and his pathetic followers grubbing along behind
he was always talking always raging
about this and that

'did I tell you about the old man and the dog?'
he asked the air expecting the patrons to
listen to him with rapt attention but the only
one paying him mind was the man asleep on the 
floor, one eye open watching for dropped coins

the story had no sense after the opening question
just a line or two about a grievance
and the vengeance he sought 
for to him he was the Lord
and vengeance was his alone

the story was cruel, and abjectly brutal
with blood and bone and guts and pain
and he made the dog watch
and the old man was left alive
alive enough to think about it

how is it that a whole city of Dobalinas
can come together wearing their shiny blue
and no one but the man who lays on the floor
has the courage to make an attempt
to document their story

as it is above so it is below
as it is inside so it is outside
as it is mindful so it is forgetting
as it is often so it is infrequently
there are not enough 

so the sweeping continues
despite the floor missing the rugs
the ones you need to sweep the dirt under
though it seeps out over time
and it gets into your clothes

i see you on the floor brother
i myself sleep by the jukebox
and play a little Bonnie Raitt
whenever I find a quarter
the Nick of Time album 

like David's harp in it you find
a secret chord a memory of a time
when a child could sit at the bar
in between popcorn and unfinished stout
a world was formed